


Figment

by celli



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-30
Updated: 2003-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sleep wake hope: Sydney would rather be a figment of her own imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figment

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Through 3.1, "The Two."
> 
> Thanks to Lyra, Shelley, and Jayne for various betaing and handholding help.
> 
> 'Specially Lyra, for not killing me.

_someones married their everyones  
laughed their cryings and did their dance  
(sleep wake hope and then) they  
said their nevers they slept their dream  
\--e.e. cummings, "anyone lived in a pretty how town"_

***

Two years later. She refuses to believe it.

They couldn't fake everything, could they?

One person, maybe. Or two. But somewhere between Carrie's pregnancy and her father's beard, Sydney begins to doubt it.

Hypnosis maybe. Some of the more experimental drugs out there...she could be strapped to a bed somewhere, talking to figments while Sloane's men suck all the CIA knowledge out of her brain. She worries over that one for a while.

Okay, a long while.

Okay, it's all she thinks about.

There's no way to find out. They don't have to know all the details of her life--her own brain will conveniently provide them, filling in all the blanks for whatever they suggest. Sight, smell, feel--it could only be real to her, she thinks, as the sedan explodes in front of her. The blast of heat that washes over her could be coming from nowhere but her own fevered imagination.

She imagines Francie's double standing over her and laughing at her imaginary mission, and thinks briefly that if this guy stabs her...if she lets him kill her...well, at least maybe she'll know.

If nothing else, maybe she could start over with a better hallucination.

But her body carries on the battle without her, and she goes on.

She doesn't want to go on. What's there to go on to?

***

"That was kind of harsh," Weiss says.

Sydney shrugs and goes back to the report Marshall prepared on everything that happened while she was...away. It's light on current events and heavy on the latest Buffy spinoff, but having something tangible comforts her. She couldn't make up all of this on her own, could she?

"I don't necessarily blame you." This is the Weiss she remembers. Or the Weiss she's remembering. When he has something to say, he says it. "It's not your job to bless his marriage. Let the man feel guilt, it's probably good for him."

"Thanks for your support." She turns a page and notices the sports rundown. Will the sight of hockey scores ever be painless? Probably not. She keeps turning.

"Syd."

She looks up.

"If you want to make Vaughn your verbal punching bag, that's fine. But when you're done, remember that the rest of us buried you too." His eyes are troubled, but they never leave hers. "We all lost faith."

No, you didn't. No, you couldn't. She fights the words away, knowing that arguing with him about reality and faith will only harm her position, whatever that happens to be. "I--I have a meeting with Marshall. Something about a tech update--"

"Go ahead." His hand is warm on her upper arm. Could she be making him up? Would she? "If you need anything, Syd--"

She needs two years' worth of...something. "Thanks, Weiss."

***

What she needs, she decides some time after seeing herself on grainy tape slitting a man's throat, is proof.

If it's real, fine, she'll slog through it and find out what happened and then...well, whatever happens next. She'll probably go to jail, which doesn't sound as awful as it might.

If it's not real, then she has a reason to get free. Get back to her life.

So how to prove it?

During a sleepless night in the safe house (if she sleeps, when will she wake up?), she decides that she needs to do something completely unexpected. Something hypnosis and her own memories can't compensate for.

Killing someone is out, although according to that tape, it's not new and unusual. But if she's wrong and this is reality...okay, no.

She could go somewhere she's never been, but...too time-consuming.

Quit the CIA and--no. She's tried that.

She could seduce Marshall. The thought sends her into a spasm of giggles, until she has to stick her head under her pillow to avoid being heard by the guards. That would be unusual, definitely. Unpredictable. But poor Carrie. Even in a hallucination, she can't wreck Marshall's life.

As she lies there, still giggling intermittently, it hits her.

"Perfect," she tells the ceiling.

***

"Weiss. Weiss."

He snores. Sydney tries not to giggle. "Weiss," she whispers again, shaking him.

He sits bolt upright, nearly knocking her off the bed. "Whatthehell?" He shakes his head once, hard, and squints at her. "Syd? What are you doing here?"

That's a good question. "You said if I needed anything..." She trails off.

"I did, didn't I?" He scratches the scar on his throat. "Well, I didn't quite expect you to break into my house to get it, but okay. How can I help you?"

She launches herself at him, and realizes only when she hears his muffled grunt that she's thrown them both back into the headboard. His mouth is firm, and a bit rough from the stubble around it, and he's not kissing her back, dammit. She fumbles for one of his hands and puts it firmly on her breast.

He shoves her away. She grabs at him for balance, but he's still pushing, and she lands on the floor. "Ow!"

"I'm sorry. Wait. Sydney, what the hell's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," she says, hearing the sullen tone in her own voice.

"Nothing. Right. You've always molested random CIA agents, I just didn't know about it."

She's not going to cry. She's not going to cry. She's not--

"Please don't cry, Syd."

"I'm not crying!" She sniffs. "My butt hurts."

"I'm sorry. Look, come here." He hauls her up into his lap--with no apparent effort on his part; she'd be impressed, if she weren't too busy dripping tears on his T-shirt. "Just don't do that again, okay? It was like a reverse wet dream. No offense."

"None taken." His arms are hard around her, and the blankets are tangled under her legs, pressing into the back of her thighs. "Maybe it is a dream. All of it. Maybe we're both just figments of my imagination."

"Um. Okay."

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"None. But that's okay. When's the last time you slept?"

"Off and on. I'm afraid--" The sob at the back of her throat wants to be a scream. "What if I wake up again and--"

He says something against her hair, but she can't hear him over the noises she's making.

***

She wakes up slowly, fuzzily, trying to figure out why her eyes hurt and her throat itches and she's still wearing her clothes. Did something happen? A mission? Had Vaughn--

It all hits her at once, and she freezes. Oh, God.

"Syd?" Weiss says sleepily. She rolls over. He's on his side next to her, looking even less alert than last night. "You awake?"

"I think so. How long was I out?"

"Ten hours, I think."

"Are you sure?"

He cranes his head to check the clock. "Yeah. It's about two in the afternoon. Good thing you fell apart on a Friday. I wouldn't want to have to call both of us in sick."

"I guess." She scoots closer. "Thanks, Weiss."

"Sure." He makes a startled sound when her arms creep around his waist, but when she doesn't try anything else, he relaxes and hugs her back. "Anytime. I think."

"Okay."

"Sydney, are you sure you're awake?"

She sighs, just once, and feels his chest drop as he breathes out too. "I'm sure."


End file.
